


Love And Trust

by gala_apples



Category: Shameless (US), The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Cop Diego Hargreeves, F/F, Hook-Up, M/M, Manic Ian Gallagher, Non-Chronological, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Parent Allison Hargreeves, Post-Canon, Season/Series 04, Season/Series 09, Sober Companions, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25312924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gala_apples/pseuds/gala_apples
Summary: There are seven kinds of love in the world. The Hargreeves and the Gallaghers experience them together.
Relationships: Dave/Klaus Hargreeves, Debbie Gallagher/Vanya Hargreeves, Ian Gallagher/Luther Hargreeves, Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	Love And Trust

**Storge**

Allison is no stranger to being a pariah. It’s the lifeblood of every paparazzi and tabloid website, how easily they’re able to turn the screw on a celebrity’s life. Allison remembers her first scandal, the first stone throwing. She was sixteen. Blake hadn’t waited three hours before selling his story of them losing their virginity together. Funny how no one got up in arms when Diego or Ben or Luther had sex, Klaus being the exception because of the attention he calls to himself. It’s been a long decade and a half or so since. Losing people’s favour is worn into her marrow. 

Sometimes she thinks she deserves it, for the things she’s done. Sometimes she’s got better self esteem than that. What’s not in question is that small children don’t deserve to feel like the world hates them. 

Claire’s got a friend, at her private elementary school. Many, actually, her beautiful happy little girl makes friends everywhere she goes. The afternoons of the weeks her partial custody’s gotten her Claire are full of play dates. Allison’s learned to stock the fridge with juice and the pantry with pepperidge farm. She recognises some of the repeat visitors, has gotten to know their parents with shallow ease. Upper class parenting and red carpet paparazzi are the same level of superficial, one Allison can handle with her hands tied behind her back. 

The boy from Claire’s grade that comes over the most is Liam. He’s a scholarship student, picked up shortly after Allison reminded the principal that diversity should be a standard to strive for. No Rumor needed, just a brief conversation poking at sore spots with an immaculate smile on her face, completely beyond reproach. Allison didn’t intend Claire to become friends with the only other black child in her grade, necessarily, didn’t try to manufacture it the way so much of her life has been manufactured, but knowing Liam now she’s happy for it. He’s a smart kid. His sense of humor is a bit adult, she can see when he’s holding back like adult movie stars at the Kids Choice Awards. She understands it though, once the truth about the Gallagher family starts making its way through school. Three older siblings having done jailtime, one currently still in prison. A dead deadbeat mom. Living on Wallace Street. Liam’s had one hell of a life, she can allow him the occasional slip of his sanitized school persona.

Just like it’s rarely something she’s recently done that starts the newest wave of vitriol from the public, it’s Frank Gallagher that destroys Liam’s young life. He creates a web of sexually transmitted disease over the various infidelious parents, and that bitch of a principal actually uses the cliche phrase ‘the sins of the father’ to justify pulling Liam’s tuition. Allison’s entire body heats with rage, overhearing Liam tell Claire while they eat bear claw cookies and work on their project about raising butterflies. He has no reason to complete his homework now, but he’s Claire’s friend and isn’t the type to abandon her with the project half done.

Maybe Allison’s too invested, sees too much of herself in this suddenly reviled child, this poor kid who the crowd has turned on. Her therapist will probably tell her so, when this comes up. Regardless of her reasoning, Allison can’t see herself regretting setting up the meeting with Trina to not only pay Liam’s tuition for the next three years in full, but set up an ongoing donation that can be revoked at any time should they choose to expel him again. In a world of haters, sometimes you need to make big moves. Hopefully Liam will learn that before he gets eaten alive.

**Eros**

Debbie’s out with Farhad and some of the other union guys when she sees her. There’s a brunette perched on a stool halfway across the bar, as tiny as Liam might be sitting on the same. Debbie’s never been with a woman smaller than her, but she wants to curl her hands around her slim waist. She wants to have wall sex with her, boost her against wood panelling so they’re the same height as they kiss.

The urge comes on fast and strong. Suddenly all her plans of beers and dumb jokes with the guys and maybe a little dancing go right out the window. None of that matters compared to scooping this woman into her arms, and doing something, somewhere.

She hisses to the guys to not catcall her -Farhad and Duran and Drake and Vinnie are like Lip and Ian, prone to yelling out things they think are witty- and begins her trek across the Five Leaf Clover. On the way she snags a bowl of pretzels and another of popcorn. Debbie places both on the tiny raven’s tiny elevated table.

“Hi. Debbie,” she introduces herself with a smile. “I didn’t think you’d appreciate me buying you another beer, so-”

The woman glances at her nearly full stein of beer and shrugs a little, sheepish. “Yeah. Uh. Not quite ready for a second.”

“Only your first, huh? Just get here?” Debbie slides herself onto one of the table’s two other high stools. She wishes she was wearing a skirt or dress, but showing the long line of her leg in tight black jeans will have to do. 

“I’ve got a low tolerance. I’m petite, and I’m on this medication.”

“Oh yeah, my brother Ian’s like that too. One beer is like five for him, so he’s gotta be careful.” It’s not normal first date conversation, but Debbie’s previous experiences include ‘I’m not actually a hooker’, and ‘I’m not gay I enjoy fucking your brother despite misleading you’. If this is what the raven haired woman wants to talk about, well, it’s not like much shocks Debbie with the life she’s lived.

“It’s a new side effect for me, I’m still figuring it out. The old one didn’t work out so well, and going off them made things a lot worse.”

“Are you sure you’re not Ian in a wig? You have to tell me if you are, I’m not allowed to find you cute if you are.”

Debbie’s expecting a giggle, but the woman is just stunned. “You think I’m-?”

“What? A lesbian? Sorry if I got the wrong impression, but you’re dressed kind of butch.” A men’s button down shirt, jeans, trucker cap and boots offers certain implications.

“No. Cute. No one’s ever called me that?”

“Why else would I bring you food?” Debbie asks, plucking up a piece of popcorn and holding it against her lip just long enough to draw attention to her mouth before popping it in.

“I. I thought about sitting at a table with a bowl out, but then I thought how sanitary is it, really. But maybe I was overthinking it? Is that popcorn buttery at all?”

“I mean, my dad would eat every bowl in a bar to avoid having to waste his drug money on food, but he’s not the best barometer for good decisions. The popcorn’s alright, but if you don’t want to try it, you don’t need to. I wouldn’t want you to feel uncomfortable-” Debbie raises her pitch towards the end, leaving in an obvious blank space.

“Vanya. I’m. Yeah. Vanya.”

“So, cute cute Vanya. What are your plans for tonight, besides drinking slowly?”

“My last boyfriend was a literal murderer. I want to have sex with someone without thinking about the person they might be.”

“Wow, that’s some pretty dark shit.” Debbie’s had more crime in her life than she can count, but aside from maybe Mickey, no murder. Not really. She remembers Mickey and Ian breaking up after getting out of prison because they were both mad the other thought they could commit murder. Boys are fucking stupid. Ian wanted to be a soldier for years, and it was the mania not a change in politics that stopped him. Mickey literally didn’t blink an eye at thinking they’d killed Sammi, and knew how to dismember a body. Of course they could both commit murder. Debbie doesn’t think she’d run away from any family member if they’d killed someone, but maybe it’s different when it’s a boyfriend and you didn’t know their tendencies going into it.

Despite the provocative words, Vanya doesn’t seem interested in continuing that line of conversation. Instead she says “do you really think I’m cute? Prove it.”

Debbie likes the role of instigator. She can think of nothing better for the night than proving it. Farhad gave her a ride to Five Leaf Clover, but in this day and age it’s a snap of a finger and there’s an Uber waiting for them. She flips off Drake as they leave. She knows exactly what kind of jokes she’ll be hearing from him at work tomorrow.

Debbie gives the driver a tip about getting back to South Wallace, despite knowing he’ll just follow his app. The less she has to pay the better. Being unionized hasn’t much changed her paycheck, any few extra dollars just go to Franny anyway. Having an apartment of their own is a pipe dream. It’s pretty spacious anyway, these days. Lip’s down the block, Carl’s in Lip and Tami’s RV, Mickey and Ian use the old boy’s room as their master, Liam’s stayed put, and at seven Franny’s finally able to have her own room. Having her own room sure makes bringing people home easier.

Half the family’s around when Debbie pulls Vanya through the front door. Carl and Bethany are watching tv with Franny, Mickey and Tami are loudly bitching at each other about the latest Youtube recipe they’ve decided to replicate. Debbie ignores them all to tug Vanya up the stairs. She doesn’t want introductions, she doesn’t want to start a twenty minute conversation with Franny about what she learned at school today. She wants to get her mouth on Vanya’s cunt, wants her tongue up her hole until Vanya bursts like a water balloon on Debbie’s face. 

**Pragma**

Not all cops care about rookies. To be fair, there are some rookies that don’t need to be cared for, they’re self possessed enough to know what they’re doing. The vast majority though need to be tucked under a wing, for one reason or another. There are a handful of veterans at the station best qualified, and somehow despite Dad’s incredible lack of people skills, Diego is one of them. 

This new kid, Carl Gallagher, his issue is one of culture shock. He got in partially because of a recommendation from Detective Winslow, partially because of an off the books yet still well known undercover op he did while still too young to apply. Carl has the weapons capability, the physical skill and the street smarts. What he doesn’t have is the ability to chat with coworkers and follow routine. From what Diego’s gathered, Carl’s had an extremely erratic childhood spent in poverty. Over half his family’s done time, and there are multiple junkies in the mix. He doesn’t know how to relax in the station, he always wants to be on the beat, moving. All that to say, he needs a friend. 

Diego puts himself on the line. It’s him or Klyne, and Georgie doesn’t understand restlessness as well as he does. It’s not a total hardship to be polishing Carl up. He’s kind of funny, in a ‘I have seen some shit’ kind of way. Diego can tell when the stories over beer and a movie get edited for professionalism, he’s not an idiot, but they’re good stories nonetheless and he’d be a hypocrite if he did care. It’s not like the station knows his sister is a movie star and his brother went to the moon. Editing can be useful.

When it gets weird is when It 2 comes up next on their chomping through the horror genre on Diego’s streaming service. It opens with a gay bashing scene, and Diego can’t help but notice Carl’s posture, and the white knuckles of his strangling grip on the beer he’s drinking. Diego sees it again as Paul Bunyan attacks Richie, and at the end on the bridge. Carl’s fiercely glaring at the screen, like sheer willpower will stop the watery eyes. 

Diego clicks back to main menu and says easily “well, that wasn’t what I thought it was going to be.”

“Yeah. Coulda used more evil clown.”

“You alright?”

“What? Yeah,” Carl replies, aggravated.

Diego waits for a better answer from the rookie. 

He doesn’t have to wait long. “I don’t fuckin’ know. The hate crime at the start, it made me think about my siblings. My sister Deb’s bi, and my brother Ian’s gay. And my little brother said he doesn’t know yet, nothing’s caught his eye yet, and Ian told him it’s okay to be ace which I can’t even believe is a fuckin’ thing. All Gallaghers like sex. I once chopped my foreskin off so my girlfriend would have more sex with me.”

“Jesus Christ, man.” Diego can feel his junk shriveling in his pants at the horrific idea.

“I know. She cheated on me, after all that even. What a bitch right? But if he doesn’t like it in the future, it’s fine, I guess. So someone kicking their ass and killing them just for the cock they do or don’t suck, it’s fucking with me.”

“I get it. Pansexual, nonbinary usually-brother myself.” There’s not a chance Klaus hasn’t been gay bashed at least once, and it makes him sick to think about it.

“No shit.” Proving he’s not been socialized to have a back and forth conversation, Carl immediately continues talking about himself. “I mean, he’s fine now. Got a great husband who I trust would kill anyone who tried to hurt them.”

An affinity for taking the law into his own hands isn’t the best quality in these circumstances. But Diego isn’t on the clock, he can let it go.

“But for a while it was really fucked up. He was hooking. I dunno if he thought we didn’t know but we’re not stupid. And hookers end up in dumpsters by the dozens.”

“If we’re in public, say sex worker. You never know when something is going to become a sound bite.” Professional advice is better than thinking about the ten plus years Klaus lived on the streets, and how many times he probably nearly got murdered. Might have literally _gotten murdered_ , seeing as God doesn’t like him and doesn’t want him, apparently. What a fucking trip that was, finding out Klaus can’t stay dead.

“K. Yeah,” Carl accepts the advice, as a rookie should. “Even once that shit was over he was the face of this gay rights movement that had a lot of Westboro shitheads gunning for his blood.”

“Yeah.” The precinct is well aware of his brother’s ex-cult and the cells still running in a few major cities. It almost counted against Carl too much for him to get a position, only saved by finding no evidence that any of the other Gallaghers had anything to do with Ian’s cult.

“Gallaghers can hold their own, none of us are pussies. We fight back. I just don’t want any of them to get kicked to death and thrown over a bridge for an evil clown to eat, you know?”

Diego doesn’t do melancholy. He can’t afford it, he’d never crawl out if he started. He tamps down the thoughts of his own kick-ass siblings and turns again to advice meant to make Carl more suited for life in the field. “So use it. Think about your siblings being vulnerable and use it to want everyone safe on domestics, or bar brawls. Be a good cop, for them.” 

“Do my fuckin’ best,” Carl says. He raises his beer to his mouth, capping the conversation, and Diego scrolls up to bookmarked shows. One episode of Cutthroat Kitchen and he’s got to head home. Their shift comes early.

**Ludus**

A few months after his revelation at basic training, Ian knows one thing above all else is true. People are just people. He can remember the judgey teenager he used to be. Always demonising Frank and Monica for partying, like every day couldn’t be the day you die. Wanting to decide Lip’s life for him, from girlfriends to fatherhood to schooling. Needing to be the best in ROTC yet still looking down on the people who couldn’t keep up. Hating Mickey for not being brave enough to risk his life loving him. 

Ian’s better than all of that now. He got to know a lot of people, in basic and hitchhiking and couch surfing, and what they all have in common is that they’re all _in_ common, just people with needs and desires wanting life to take it easy on them. No matter what playing field they’re on, a scrub patch with shattered beer bottles or Wrigley field, everyone thinks they have problems.

It’s an outlook that makes the job easier. Ian doesn’t need to know why this guy pulls his turtleneck over his face while getting blown, or why that guy wants to be spanked and called a hussy. They’re all just trying to do their best and have decided Ian is part of that best. So be it.

That doesn’t mean some customers aren’t a bit extreme. Ian finishes his half hour long set in the cage above the bar, climbs down and chugs an appletini Miles has prepped and waiting for him, then goes in the back to talk to Donnie. His dance routine will have gathered a bunch of interest, and it’s up to Donnie to filter safe interest from interest that should back off. Beyond that, it’s up to Ian how far things go. Usually pretty far, though. After a brief depression caused by Mickey not picking him, Ian’s rebounded into enjoying his sexuality as only a gay man can.

This guy Donnie’s just sent him to, he’s wider than he is tall, and he’s _tall_. Thank fuck the few rooms in the back are all furnished with padded benches, because this guy could not fit in an armchair. He looks like someone tried to shove two people into one set of clothes. Not fat, Ian’s dealt with fat before. Just massive, impossibly contained.

“Hey baby. I’m Curtis. Anything you want me to call you?”

The blond behemoth doesn’t hesitate in his answer. Either he’s thought about this, the secret persona of his that likes getting handsy with a club kid, or he’s simple and using his real name. “Luther. Are you on drugs?”

“Hmm?” Ian would assume everyone at Fairy Tail is, but he’s never had someone flat out ask before. 

“I specifically asked for someone on drugs to do this.”

That is a red flag. Potentially. Half a red flag. A quarter of a red flag. Ian’s not worried, it’s hard to be worried these days when the world is full of possibilities, but he knows Luther’s comment needs to be dealt with. “Why? Do you want some? Or is this a date rape fantasy thing? If you want to play pretend you need to warn a boy first.”

“What? No. No no no no no. I just. I’ve only... once, and we were both on E, and I think it made her like me more. I know how I look. I don’t expect anyone to like it for real. But if we can pretend-”

Ian puts his index finger over Mountain Man’s lips as saucily as he can. “I’ve got you, sweet thing.”

He does. He knows this play, how to give a lap dance or a little more to a sad man. A lot of his clients have self esteem issues. Ian gets it. He used to too. The weird pale ginger. The half brother whose father sensed it and was more physically abusive to him then any of his other children. The gay one in the South Side, and unwanted by the only boy he thought he loved. Then it all just sort of slipped away in basic. Ian gained a sex drive, gained energy and a zest for life. Hopefully he can impart some of that in this man tonight, have him going home happy. Luther looks like he needs some zest.

**Philia**

With Griddy’s blown to shit, Five needs a new twenty four hour restaurant. It doesn’t need to be a patisserie, though Dolores knows he enjoys his yeast filled doughs. Certain other specialty restaurants aren’t going to fit the spot; colour it unlikely that he hits up a delicatessen for black forest ham for hours a night. That doesn’t winnow his options by much. Pre-apocalyptic North America is hardly wanting for low quality places to stuff your face.

Five tries a few establishments before settling on Patsy's Pies. It’s got the correct combination of inattentiveness and cheap carb laden food. It isn’t until the eighth visit that there’s a disturbance, and even that’s mundane. He thinks he might have to leave when a waitress tries to refuse him coffee, claiming it’ll stunt his growth. He doesn’t kill her. He’s a temporal assassin, one of the best, and that means killing for a solid reason, not over petty ignorance like the Florida Man news clippings Klaus thinks it’s funny to show everyone. Thankfully another waitress bustles in before he’s forced to cut ties and start his search anew.

“You can tell Linda doesn’t have children from this generation,” says Fiona, the waitress who always serves him. “They’re a little too preoccupied with school shootings and the crashing economy to worry about their height.” 

To be quite frank Five would love nothing more than to be two feet taller. He’s just well aware that his growth spurt won’t happen for years and whether or not he consumes Luther’s weight in coffee won’t change that. He murmurs his thanks for the intervention and returns to his notebook.

After the Coffee Incident, Five pays a little more attention to Fiona. Mostly he keeps to his calculations, but he can spare a cordial sentence or two for someone providing him daily food and drink. It’s more than any of his brothers or sisters do. Diego is simultaneously most likely to cook food necessitating more than three ingredients, and least likely to share. Klaus still happily eats out of dumpsters. Ben can’t eat, Vanya and Allison order in, and Luther gets Pogo to cook for him now that Grace is out of commission.

The brief pleasantries are what leads to Five finding out Fiona too is the developer of her own creation, the builder of lives, the push that makes her empty headed siblings actually get shit done. Fiona is the type to rant about her troubles, as well as her solutions. It’s easier to admit around strangers -where he need not literally admit a thing out loud- that he’s missed the sounds of others. Five finds himself vaguely encouraging the rants. They’re a soothing panacea for the burning wasteland that never leaves his mind, even if he has nothing to offer her in return besides a listening ear. Most of her advice seems pretty straightforward, such as don’t flee before sentencing for the gay cult brother, or don’t have a baby and drop out at fourteen for the girl, or don’t sell meth for apparently all of them. Every time the siblings listen things go well, when they don’t things go to shit. It’s a mirror image of his own life in broad strokes, even if the details are quite different.

Five is there to witness the petty revenge against Ford, and kudos to Debbie for welding the cheating asshole to a billboard, it shows the creativity Five has come to expect from Fiona’s stories of her family. However the kind action doesn’t clear the big issues; financial catastrophe and a loss of control, a ruination of the last year of plans for her future. Five is tempted to give Fiona the money, but doesn’t in the end. Five hates it when people try to fix his problems, they inevitably make things worse. Knowing her life, the IRS would get involved for suspicious transactions, or Mr Gallagher -as trash of a man as Reginald- would somehow claim it and buy nuclear waste or something equally destined to fuck everything up.

When Fiona starts to drink on the job, Five notices. He considers a variety of responses before going with the one he calculates to have the best odds of helping her. Which is to say, he does nothing. Who amongst us has not gotten drunk on the floor of a library after a bad day? She deserves the peace of the bottom of a bottle as much as anyone else.

On one of a million sleepless nights Five comes out of the bathroom to a scene in progress. A group of men have clearly seen Fiona counting cash through the window. The vibe isn’t merely greed. It’s menace. Things are going to get much uglier than theft. That is, if he allows it. Unlikely. The few times in Five’s long life that he’s had to be a bystander have worn on him far more than any of the assassinations. The chances of The Commission tying a knife fight in 2019 South Side to him are low, and he’ll deal if they figure it out. 

It’s moot though. He pops to the kitchen for a butcher's knife, then comes out into the restaurant proper, his eerie business grin locked on his face. Before he can do a single thing the thugs slink away, the mere presence of a witness stopping them. He never even got to reveal the knife concealed behind his back. Five has mixed feelings. He’s glad to not be blowing his cover and burning Patsy’s Pies as a secondary location, but some sorts of criminals deserve death. One of the last jobs Reginald had them on before their fight and his stranding in the future was a sex trafficking ring. Five’s spent the next fifty years stopping sexual violence when he can. He’d really prefer slicing all their throats over letting them leave.

Still, there’s Fiona to consider. Most citizens are not taught from birth how to compartmentalise trauma in the aftermath of an experience. Five’s heard enough stories of Fiona’s life to know she’s fairly well versed in the process, but sexual threats are a specific kind of trauma, and Five would be a poor confidante if he left Patsy’s to hunt down and finish off the assailants.

Instead he slips back into his customary seat and sips his coffee. “Take comfort in knowing this is not the worst rock bottom you could be having.” 

“Yeah,” Fiona gasps. She’s drunk, of course, and less capable than usual of managing it, with the terror overwriting her normal processes.

“I myself have faced much greater.” Five doesn’t share often, nor much when he does. But on occasion comments are a necessity, and this is one such time.

“See the weird thing is I fucking believe that, despite you being what, fifteen? Who am I kidding. At fifteen Carl’d been to jail, Debbie had a baby, Lip was already a budding alcoholic sex addict, and Ian was dating a married man twice his age. Adults have no monopoly on fucked up decisions.” Fiona’s factual assessment slips into self incrimination. “God, and I didn’t stop any of it. I was supposed to be better. Five, why wasn’t I better?”

Five considers Klaus’ drug addiction, Vanya’s attempted genocide, Luther’s sickening idolization of his captor. What’s worse, failure by prolonged absence or failure by futile attempts to change the course? “Better is something we should both work on.”

Fiona runs a trembling hand over her face. “I’m scared to leave. What if they’re waiting? Should I call the police?”

“No. Should they come back I can protect you.” It’s more information than he should be giving, but he’d like it if she felt safe.

“I believe that too. Jesus.”

For the first time in his patronage, Five pats the booth beside him. “Sit. Play me a song you like. Where I’ve been there wasn’t much of an opportunity for music.”

Fiona sits. She doesn’t ask where he’s been. Five appreciates her respect. He’s given it so rarely. No wonder he’s grown to care about her.

**Agape**

Lip is happy when Barney calls him for another sober companion job. It’s all the benefit of sponsoring someone, feeling accomplished and right with the world, but with the addition of getting paid. Pull ups for Fredo don’t come cheap. They’re significantly more costly than diapers. The sooner he potty trains the better. Lip should be a master of technique by now, he’s had Franny and Liam and Carl and Debs, but every toddler reacts differently. 

It’s a man, this time. Or it’s supposed to be. When Lip shows up it’s actually two men, an Asian man in all black, and a shirtless white man in a skirt. Which hey, whatever. Even if Ian’s shit hadn’t taught him to be open minded, AA is actually pretty fucking full of queer people with problems. Klaus won’t be the tenth queer alkie Lip knows.

“Hey. I’m Lip Gallagher, he/his, referred by Barney. I’ll be hanging out with you for the next twelve hours.”

“Ohh, announcing pronouns. How very twenty first century of you,” the beskirted man says, perching on the edge of a red armchair. 

“Yeah, well. Brother’s gay. Sister’s bi. First girlfriend was pan. One of my sponsors is stone butch. You learn the language.”

“Oh, well if we’re doing a roll call, here’s my family from most to least,” Klaus smirks. “Vanya, almost certainly a repressed lesbian, I’m working on it. Allison, would definitely kiss a woman for a part. Diego, I feel like if his inevitable leather queen fetish girlfriend expressed interest in having a two male one female threesome he’d probably go for it? Luther, very straight unless he was so high on drugs he didn’t notice he was in a raver orgy. Benjamin, sadly celibate. Five, a hundred year old man in a six year old’s body.”

“Are you done trying to scare him off now? I’m Ben,” the Asian man sighs.

“Not scaring him off, making sure he can keep up. The next twelve hours are going to be very quickly paced. Klaus, call me whatever you want, I’m every gender and I fuck everything. What are we doing first?”

Lip inwardly laughs at the idea of semi-raunchy talk overwhelming him. Like he didn’t have his own college orgies, and polyamory, and BDSM before settling down with Tami. “Not scared off, for the record. Takes a fuck of a lot to unnerve me, I’ve seen some shit. And I mean, usually I like to talk out why I’m here, what your goal is. What you need from me for the next half day.”

Klaus draws his feet up the side of the couch until he’s entirely perched on the arm. “Oh, yeah, see I meant more like do you have video games, or want to go to a fair, or a boxing match, or...”

Ben scrunches his face apologetically. “He wasn’t kidding about quick paced. Klaus is a daycare full of ADHD preschoolers level of needs planned activities.”

Lip hasn’t had a client like this before. He’s had runners, and snappish assholes, and one very zen woman who he meditated through most of the evening with, but never a manic one. But hell, if there’s anyone who can handle manic with aplomb, it’s him. Not to mention he’s had a hand in raising four younger siblings, and temporary care of Molly, Bonnie’s siblings, and Xan. He can entertain with safe boundaries with the best of them.

“If you have cream of tartar, or order it with your grocery app, I know a mean play dough recipe.” Between Franny, Amy and Gemma, Lip makes it by the gallon.

“I could tell you he didn’t mean actual fucking preschooler-” Klaus starts.

“And then I’d have to remind you you played with modelling clay with Claire like a month ago,” Ben says, crossing his arms.

“True. Also it kind of sounds fun?” Klaus’ mood changes entirely, like a snap of a finger. Lip will have to watch for mood swings, it’s when he’ll be most likely to try to get a drink. “Bring it forth, El Capitan Lip.”

Klaus pulls out his phone, presumably typing in the grocery order. Lip doesn’t know this area of Chicago well, but there must be a corner store somewhere nearby because less than five minutes later there’s a knock at the door. Lip has to answer it, can’t risk a quick handoff of something illicit by a friend or dealer. The most aggrieved thirteen year old boy Lip’s ever seen jams a container in his hands and walks away without saying anything. If Lip was a middle class douche he’d suggest Klaus rate low stars for service, but as a solid blue collar normal person he shrugs and closes the door.

Lip heads for the kitchen. Klaus and Ben follow. Ben leans against the wall, telling Lip where the dishware and other ingredients are. Klaus jitters until Ben tells him to juggle the plastic cups, and then devotes full attention to making fun of himself while poorly tossing cups.

When the green dyed playdough is cool to the touch, they sit at the table. Lip portions it out, and begins rolling out a snake. Ben doesn’t sit to participate, which makes him a bit of a jerk if they’re really trying to get Klaus buying into this, but thankfully Klaus seems to be into it anyway. He’s pinching off hunks and rolling them into balls, for what bigger purpose Lip doesn’t know.

“But seriously though. We know what I’m here to do. Distract you from the hundred ways you could get booze or drugs right now. But your goals? Tell me why you won’t do any of those ways.” Lip likes to lay the onus on them from the start. 

“I need to be sober for at least a week, to get what I want. It’s day four and all my siblings are done helping, so here I am, hiring someone.”

“Four days already. That’s good, man. That’s real good.”

“Contrary to the shittalk about being a whiny toddler, Klaus is actually doing a great fucking job. Barely being an asshole at all. It’s all of them that are the fucking problem,” Ben seethes.

“Oh yeah?” AA’s got a lot to say about ownership, but Lip is going to hold back on the speeches this early. When he was looking for a sponsor, he’d needed a safe place to vent. He’s not going to be here for Klaus long term, but he can provide it briefly.

“They’re not that bad, Benvolio,’ Klaus says, placing the spheres of playdough so that they spiral. “It’s just, they all agreed straight away that the narcotic use must stop, simply must, very very bad and naughty and all, because it’s only me doing it. But they all drink, and none of them could quite manage to put their bottles away long term.”

“Yeah. I know that feeling. Everyone in my family still casually drinks. You gotta find a way to deal with that, whether it’s accept it, or avoid them. Figure out what’s best for you.” Frank’s busy killing his second liver with his drinking, and the one time he tried to come into his and Tami’s house Lip tasered him and threw him out. It’s important to have boundaries.

“We hired you, didn’t we?” Ben snaps.

“Funny thing is, a year ago if I needed to be distracted for my budding sobriety, I’d fuck someone until I passed out and wake up to fuck some more.”

“Is this when I tell you I’m engaged, with a child?” Lip’s the furthest thing from homophobic, he can handle a come on. But he’s straight, and he loves Tami more than he thought he could love a girlfriend.

Klaus shakes his head. “No. Because that was last year me. This year me doesn’t care how big your dick is, because I have Dave. Or I could. So keep me sober until I can see him.”

That’s the goal, really. Much like Cami wouldn’t see Brad until he was a month sober, this Dave must have set a time of a week. And Klaus loves him enough to try. That’s something Lip can help with. It’s his honor to do so.

**Author's Note:**

> Storge- familial love  
> Eros- sexual/passionate/romantic love  
> Pragma -reason or duty, shared goals  
> Ludus- playful uncommitted love, teasing and dancing and flirting  
> Philia- friendship  
> Agape- altruism, love of strangers/god/nature/community
> 
> And yeah, the seventh type of love is Philautia, which is self-love, and could actually completely work for a Frank and Reginald section. Except I hate both those shitty excuses for fathers, and couldn't commit myself to writing that. So six it is!


End file.
